


Tina

by RosVailintin



Series: PFDD [5]
Category: Priscilla Queen of the Desert - Elliott/Scott (France)
Genre: Cabarets, Childhood Memories, Drag Queens, F/M, Implied/Referenced Underage, M/M, Musical References, Trans
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-12
Updated: 2018-09-12
Packaged: 2019-06-26 13:46:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15664410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RosVailintin/pseuds/RosVailintin
Summary: Been a while since I last wrote in English... and the reason that I suddenly pick it up is that I'm currently readingNineteen Eighty-Fourand I really like the way Orwell fitted all the details into clean, clear sentences. (Yeah I know this doesn't make much sense but it's the same actor, David Alexis, who plays Tina Tiger [and Bernadette] inPriscillathat will play Winston in the upcoming musical adaption!) There will be a Chinese translation if I feel like doing it. Before I started this fic, I was actually beginning to translate當夜幕降臨into French (which will beQuand la nuit se lève, and which then translates into 'When the night rises', but note that the original Chinese title is literally 'When the night falls'), but eventually I don't think I'll make it. There are languages that fit a story more than others, and sometimes it just has to be this very language. One of my partners in crime (and a brilliantDoctor Whocosplayer!) Hermione once said that translating is just the process of witnessing the loss of the meanings of the original text, which you can't help because you're the cause of it. She's dead right.Sorry, too much talking. This will be a story centred around Tina Tiger, the MC of Queen's Club, an original character created for the French musical adaption ofPriscilla. I'm 99% convinced that she is a tribute to Tina Turner, just like another OC, Miss Farrah, is very likely a tribute to Farrah Fawcett. Tina in this musical is played by the same actor who plays Bernadette (and Winston, as I just said, but him playing both Tina and Bernadette doesn't necessarily indicate that these two characters are associated and I'm actually pretty sure that this is the last thing he wants to make us feel), and personally I think she deserves a more complete image. That's basically why I decided to write this. I'd like to dedicate this one to Sora, because it's with her that we discussed our understandings of this character that isn't fully presented in the musical. (I'm not saying that this isn't good, since Tina here is already an OC and since we have the same actor playing a magnificent, powerful Bernadette for the next one hour and a half. I just think that she could actually have her own story which could fill up a musical too.) And Sora is also the first one to ever get all the tropes and references in myPriscillafics. She didn't watch as many times as I did but she really understood the things behind and above it. So thank you baby.There may be someHedwigreferences since both Tina and Bernadette have something in common with her, and since Tina and Farrah are both mentioned in the film (also, since there's a kind of resemblance between David and the actor of Hedwig in the latest German musical adaption, Andreas Bieber, that's actually quite obvious!).Need to say that I'm not a huge fan of rock music - I mean, I listen a bit and I enjoy it, but that's all - so I may not be good at actually making references to Tina Turner or any others in the field. So there won't be many, and I just try not to make severe mistakes.About porn in this fic, yes there will be porn. I have never ever written anyPriscillafic, no matter which ship, without porn. Well it may be my problem but I just can't leave it out. But the thing is, the porn here isn't just for porn; I have a reason to have porn in it. And as I said, it's been a long time since I've written in English which also means that it's been a long time since I've written porn in this language which is not even my mother tongue (but well, almost), so I hope it's not too bad.One more warning beside the archive ones. If you have watched the musicalComédiens !, Pierre (played by Fabian Richard who has shared the role of MC in the 2006 French musical adaption ofCabaretwith David) has a line in it that goes like, 'This field is like this, everyone sleeping with everyone.' I sort of applied this idea here, and it's Tina-centred so you know what I mean. (And if you haven't watched this musical, trust me it's worth it. They didn't win five trophies for nothing!)If you have put up with me blabbering so much (thank you for this already) and that you're okay with all above, let the story begin.





	Tina

**Author's Note:**

> Been a while since I last wrote in English... and the reason that I suddenly pick it up is that I'm currently reading _Nineteen Eighty-Four_ and I really like the way Orwell fitted all the details into clean, clear sentences. (Yeah I know this doesn't make much sense but it's the same actor, David Alexis, who plays Tina Tiger [and Bernadette] in _Priscilla_ that will play Winston in the upcoming musical adaption!) There will be a Chinese translation if I feel like doing it. Before I started this fic, I was actually beginning to translate [_當夜幕降臨_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15382008) into French (which will be _Quand la nuit se lève_ , and which then translates into 'When the night rises', but note that the original Chinese title is literally 'When the night falls'), but eventually I don't think I'll make it. There are languages that fit a story more than others, and sometimes it just has to be this very language. One of my partners in crime (and a brilliant _Doctor Who_ cosplayer!) Hermione once said that translating is just the process of witnessing the loss of the meanings of the original text, which you can't help because you're the cause of it. She's dead right.  
>  Sorry, too much talking. This will be a story centred around Tina Tiger, the MC of Queen's Club, an original character created for the French musical adaption of _Priscilla_. I'm 99% convinced that she is a tribute to Tina Turner, just like another OC, Miss Farrah, is very likely a tribute to Farrah Fawcett. Tina in this musical is played by the same actor who plays Bernadette (and Winston, as I just said, but him playing both Tina and Bernadette doesn't necessarily indicate that these two characters are associated and I'm actually pretty sure that this is the last thing he wants to make us feel), and personally I think she deserves a more complete image. That's basically why I decided to write this. I'd like to dedicate this one to Sora, because it's with her that we discussed our understandings of this character that isn't fully presented in the musical. (I'm not saying that this isn't good, since Tina here is already an OC and since we have the same actor playing a magnificent, powerful Bernadette for the next one hour and a half. I just think that she could actually have her own story which could fill up a musical too.) And Sora is also the first one to ever get all the tropes and references in my _Priscilla_ fics. She didn't watch as many times as I did but she really understood the things behind and above it. So thank you baby.  
>  There may be some _Hedwig_ references since both Tina and Bernadette have something in common with her, and since Tina and Farrah are both mentioned in the film (also, since there's a kind of resemblance between David and the actor of Hedwig in the latest German musical adaption, Andreas Bieber, that's actually quite obvious!).  
>  Need to say that I'm not a huge fan of rock music - I mean, I listen a bit and I enjoy it, but that's all - so I may not be good at actually making references to Tina Turner or any others in the field. So there won't be many, and I just try not to make severe mistakes.  
> About porn in this fic, yes there will be porn. I have never ever written any _Priscilla_ fic, no matter which ship, without porn. Well it may be my problem but I just can't leave it out. But the thing is, the porn here isn't just for porn; I have a reason to have porn in it. And as I said, it's been a long time since I've written in English which also means that it's been a long time since I've written porn in this language which is not even my mother tongue (but well, almost), so I hope it's not too bad.  
>  One more warning beside the archive ones. If you have watched the musical _Comédiens !_ , Pierre (played by Fabian Richard who has shared the role of MC in the 2006 French musical adaption of _Cabaret_ with David) has a line in it that goes like, 'This field is like this, everyone sleeping with everyone.' I sort of applied this idea here, and it's Tina-centred so you know what I mean. (And if you haven't watched this musical, trust me it's worth it. They didn't win five trophies for nothing!)  
>  If you have put up with me blabbering so much (thank you for this already) and that you're okay with all above, let the story begin.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miss Farrah has a visitor with no name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually started off as a one-shot but it became this... The Queens in the first season of the musical will appear in the chapter but to be honest I don't know that much about VV as the rest, so maybe I'll modify her story afterwards. There will be a lot of references of _Hôtel des Cancans_ coming up.

'Can I have your name?' asks Farrah, her fingers flickering the sequins on her dress.

Her voice gets enforced with the reverb in the narrow space of her dressing room like a piece of yellow muslin(1) soaked in warm water, getting a heavier weight and a thicker shade of colour, and damp like the air around them - 'them' includes Farrah herself, aka the founder, the current boss, the MC, the cashier, the accountant, the lead dancer, the receptionist, the casting director, the stylist, anything you want, of Queen's Club, and this... this human being standing in front her.

'You can give me one.' her interlocutor responds with this light, slightly hoarse and nearly emotionless voice, in which she hears both a 16-year-old boy and a 60-year-old lady. The large, clear blue eyes glance aside for one instant before they add, 'I mean, call me whatever you want.'

Farrah briefly raises an eyebrow and stops herself from making any comment. After a short hesitation, she goes, 'Then tell me about **you** , sweetheart.'

Her "sweetheart" stares at her in the eye in a way that, although not aggressive, gives her goosebumps around the waist. 'On my passport(2),' they begin like a mother telling her child a bedtime story, 'it's written "male",' they blink once, 'but I lost it, so it doesn't matter now. I suppose I was born right before the war, or probably at the beginning of it... I forgot and probably will never know, but it doesn't matter either. I had a name on the passport, by the way, a name that I haven't used for who knows how long. I change from time to time since no one really cares. And... I'm not virgin, if you'd like to know -'

'Wait,' Farrah shuts her eyes, 'wait.'

They blink in a slight confusion. She watches, and her mind falls into a temporary blank. She sighs, 'Look -' and she doesn't know what to say next. It's as if there's a rock stuck in her rib cage. For one moment, she thinks, _Wasn't it written "male" too on my passport, and didn't I lost it too._ 'Look,' she starts again, 'I don't care whether you're virgin or... whatever. And I take no interest in how many names you've had or what they were. Tell me why you're here.'

They came up to her as sudden as her ex gave up on her. She was just about to put some glitters on her eyelids when she heard three quick knocks at the door - it was pretty magical that the sound trespassed right through the voice of Tina Turner singing out loud under the diamond stylus and reached her ears. 'One moment!' she shouted, meant at the door but in fact at the mirror in front of her. The visitor might have responded, but why would she care.

Ten minutes later - yes, she did look at the clock - ten minutes later, she stood in front of the full-length mirror standing beside the large wardrobe that took up most of the room, and brushed the little curls of hair out of her sight. _Hi, Miss Farrah._ (3) she said silently with a brief little smile.

She turned down the volume of the music and opened the door, and the cold damp air of February hurried into her dressing room - heated up as it travelled through the corridor, of course, but the smell remained, and it made her want to sneeze. She didn't, because she saw the visitor. She had met more drag queens and transgenders than women and men and girls and boys she had slept with, and this was one of the rare cases when she hesitated on the personal pronoun. Her visitor had a rather young face, slender to just the right extent and "ideal" like that of a Baroque statue, cheeks and thin lips rosy due to the cold air. They had eyeliners, eye shadow, mascara and glitters on, and surrounded by all these, the bright, azure blue eyes reminded her of the sky she saw this morning.

'Good afternoon.' her visitor said with a nod that looked so weird for a reason she couldn't tell, but she liked the neat, tender accent that was obviously foreign and contained some kind of nobleness. They continued, 'Miss Farrah, I suppose?' They had a navy blue shawl over a large, bright orange woolen scarf wrapped around the thin shoulders of a beautifully tailored silvery grey frock coat. Under the indigo fedora, soft blond hair covered the sides of their neck.(4)

'Yes, it's me.' she replied in her usual joyful tone and managed a rather natural smile, stepping aside holding the door, 'Come in.'

'Thank you.' they whispered; Farrah realised after one or two seconds that the pronunciation sounded more like “danke”.

'Can I have your name?' she asked.

And up to now, she still doesn't have an answer to the very first question she asked them - what they responded doesn't count.

'Well, why am I here?' they repeat, and it seems like all of a sudden, the childlike clearness is gone from their eyes, 'Because your spot deserves a better MC, Farrah.'

She almost rolls her eyes, but instead, she only turns around and sits down in front of the mirror to do some final adjustments for her hair. They just watch quietly without even the appearance of waiting for a word from her. The sound of breathing gets so loud that she wants to sigh, and she doubts that all the little noises are produced by herself.

About two minutes later, the music is slowly turned up, but not as loud as it had been. The child mutters something right afterwards, but Farrah fails to catch it. She finally gets her hands off the curls and turns in her seat. They have been looking at her with an obvious curiosity that they don't even bother concealing. Their face lights up a little when she meets these eyes. The kid takes a deep breath, 'Let me do it.'

How it sounds like an order makes her slightly annoyed, but she decides it's not the time to bring it up. Instead, she stands up so as to tower them - she is indeed much taller, she just realises, so much that they have to raise their chin to meet her eyes - and goes, 'Despite that our recruitment doesn't normally work like this, at least I need your name, baby. And it's not me but **you** who decide, because it **matters**.'

Their lips curl up furtively and look away almost shyly, which certainly cannot escape Farrah's eyes. They glance at the spinning disk, and throw her a word, 'Tina.'

Farrah is completely speechless yet so amused at the same time that she has to shut her eyes and turn her back to them - to her, to Tina. She feels like being fooled; what if she had happened to put on, say, ABBA?

But the thing is, you don't take someone who comes up to you without an appointment, grabs a name from the vinyl you're playing and demands to take your place as the MC. She knows nearly nothing about this child, not even why she came here, how she knew her, what she can do or most of all what she really wants. She has no proof to support what she said. Farrah had never seen her before, either in or out of the club, but she speaks like she knows this place well. She dresses in a way that's not ugly but simply strange, and there is something in her eyes, a kind of jaded(5) heaviness that doesn't go with the rest of her. And the blue colour is a nice one.

'Fine, my little tigress(6),' she announces, turning around, arms crossed under the pair of boobs of an eye-catching size that she's very proud of, 'I give you **tonight**.' she stresses with the left index finger sticking out under her right elbow, and tilts her head, 'Surprise me, hmm?'

 

* * *

 

> 13th February, 1981(7).
> 
> I had no idea at all what I was risking... Now my knees hurt. Pretty bad. My feet too. My back too. Fine basically I'm hurting all over. I thought this wouldn't happen again after so many years but well, obviously I was wrong again. I don't know if they'll leave scars... I doubt they do. If so, I won't need tattoos any more, great. Farrah was... nicer than I expected. Frankly it took all my guts to stay cool during the conversation but she was quite nice. Was. I don't think she'll even let me stay over for the night, since the clients broke a lot of things while trying to get me out of this place and beat me up (which is pretty contradictory isn't it, like, they wanted me out a thousand miles away and at the same time they wanted to make Bolognese sauce out if me right then right there) including a gorgeous collection of painted wine glasses - these people really don't look. I mean, they could have threw the plainer glasses at me, they were right beside! It started with only two or three people, although I saw the rest weren't interested in my show. People here seem pretty hard to entertain. They look like they've had enough of everything and have come here to take a good rest. Well, I suppose it's my problem after all. But the few people that were more dynamic, they just started saying out loud those harsh words and - Oh shoot tears are coming up. Shoot. And I hear Farrah coming this way. Shoot. Oh yes I'm in her dressing room because I know nowhere else to hide. Dear Diary bless me.

Farrah sees warm yellow light leaking out under the door of her dressing room. _How the hell am I going to face her._ When she said "surprise me", she only knew that Tina had little chance to outdo her. She never expected her loyalest clients to be so... she can't find a word. They love her, they want her and her only, and just last night she was still very pleased with this. Then 24 hours later, they were like hyenas all trying to get a bite of their 90%-dead prey. Well, it's not this that makes her feel the worst. The thing is, it didn't begin like this. There were like three people who had been visiting regularly every week for a couple of years, and they couldn't accept the fact that the MC had been changed without them being informed, plus that Tina was more a performer than a MC. She didn't get off the stage and wander around the tables, showing her legs with one knee on the shoulder of a rich-looking man or stealing a sip of champagne from a fancy boy. She stood under the light like a real Queen, teasing with her voice more than her words and with her dance moves more than her body itself; she even managed to keep most of her speech in complete sentences that were carefully and elegantly composed. But the clients weren't expecting this, and they didn't come for this. So they got bored, and when a few got angry, the rest of them followed, whether they were really as unsatisfied as that or not. Farrah was watching behind the curtains when they broke out. They started with some rude flirting, and when Tina simply gave it a laugh and went on with the show, one of them clapped his hands three times and said loudly to all, 'Boys! I say we should each offer this little chienne(8) a nice hot drink.'

Farrah opens the door in her usual way, abrupt and fast, never knocking. Tina is standing near the wall facing the dressing table, concentrating on attaching a silvery pen to a thick old canvased notebook in her hand. She glances briefly at Farrah's feet; the pure pink colour of her eye shadow creates a lovely contrast with her eyes. The pen has a few fragments of metallic blue here and there, indicating that it might have been all covered in this colour(9). She has the coat wrapping around her shoulders, hanging down to the calves, and underneath is the red satin dress she wore on stage. It reaches a little below the knees, with the waist right under the last rib outlined with a thin red band, from where hundreds of delicate folds pour down to the edge of the skirt. The waistband is sewed together on the back with two pieces of fabric that trace up to the shoulders, lay over the clavicles and form a cross on the lower chest(10). She has been on heels all the time, from the moment she came in. They are a pair of pointed ankle boots made with shiny black leather in the simplest style it can be. Her legs are covered with skin-colour stockings that can be noticed only close, and across the thin skin on the right tibia lies a long pale tape.

Farrah sighs before becoming aware of it. Tina has finished tying the pen to the notebook with the strap on the latter, and is about to walk across the dressing room to put them in her bag laying in the corner between the large mirror and the wardrobe - it isn't until now that Farrah realises she has brought a bag. It's a large one made with dark brown matte leather, resembling a mail satchel, almost as worn as that too. The only decoration are the small Bohemian patterns engraved on its sides and the big, silvery, rectangular button dimmed with numerous tiny scratches all over its surface. On top of the closable piece, there are traces of handwritten sentences(11), probably with the same pen she just put away. She walks past her without even looking up.

'Look, Tina...' Farrah moves a few steps closer to her. It's weird calling her by name, not to mention that it’s very likely just another pseudo. Now they are only two steps from each other. Tina has knelt down to tidy her bag up a bit, and Farrah is standing behind her. The coat therefore covers the whole of her back as well as the sides, and all that Farrah can see is the soft blond hair and her naked arms slipping out of the edge of the coat. Both of her hands are buried inside the bag, and when they are withdrawn a little, Farrah sees several green-purple bruises around the wrists.

Tina crosses her fingers and stares into the bag for a second. Then she closes it and presses the silvery button, which makes a popping sound. Farrah kneels down beside her. Tina has taken off the mask but left the makeup on(12), and there is a light trace of lipstick that has been wept out of the corner of her mouth, which she doesn't seem to be mindful. Farrah stands up, walks to her desk, takes the demi Burgundy bottle in which contains baby oil, and returned to Tina's side. The latter has barely turned her eyes back at the bag, and is about to lift it.

Farrah seizes the strap from her hand and put the bag where it has been. Tina murmurs something, but she fails again to catch.

'Sorry?' she turns to her and asks.

Tina looks up and stares blankly for an instant before saying rapidly, 'No, it's **me** who said "sorry".'

'For what?' Farrah shifts the bottle into the other hand.

She looks slightly confused. 'Well,' she says hesitantly as if one word wrong and she's done, 'for taking hold of the bag when I'm not supposed to.' _And for touching your fingers while you got hold of the strap,_ she adds silently, but it's not worth speaking out loud; she doubts that Farrah would never apologise for this kind of things - many people don't, actually. She sees the bottle, secretly wondering what it is inside.

Farrah leans on the edge of the desk and puts the bottle beside her hip to reach the dressing gown hanging on the side the wardrobe. She signs at Tina to come over. The child blinks twice; her coat slips from the left shoulder, and she tugs at it with the right hand to stop it from completely falling off. She is slowly stroking her left ring finger with the tip of the thumb - Farrah has noticed her doing this several times during the show, subconsciously(13). In Tina's eyes, she can almost read "I know what you are going to do". She takes a deep breath, and holds out her right hand. Tina glances at the hand and walks closer. Farrah touches her arm, and peels the coat off her shoulders with one push, trying not to be distracted by the bruises and and white tapes - _I could have run out and stopped them,_ she says to herself, _I could have said that I chose her and she would be the MC, and they wouldn't have the gut to touch **me**._ Tina's eyes are following her hands, and as the coat drops on the floor with a soft sound, she tilts her head a little, casually licking her upper lip with the tip of the tongue(14).

Farrah tosses the dressing gown around Tina's back, and the latter takes it from her hands to put it on. It's a glorious piece made with light velvet with leopard prints(15), hanging above the knees for Farrah, but Tina being about ten inches smaller, the gown on her looks more like a banyan.

'Close your eyes, don't move.' Farrah says flatly, the way she does to all her girls and boys here.

She pours a few drops of baby oil onto a new cotton pad, and holds Tina's chin with the free hand. Tina parts her lips a little, and her lashes are quivering.

'Close your eyes.' Farrah repeats.

She starts from the eyelids. It kind of surprises her that the products Tina uses are of a pretty high quality, and she cannot recognise the fabricator. Tina's eyebrows are in fact very light, and her lashes are blond like the feathers of the crest of a golden pheasant. The rosy colour of her lips is mostly natural, while her cheeks are almost as pale as the rest of her face. Her skin is not completely smooth and silky, but soft and well protected. For one moment, Farrah remembers how frightened she was when she heard smashed glasses and rushed over to find Tina at the centre of all that mess. She puts the baby oil away and picks up another piccolo Champagne bottle containing rosewater.

'No, baby, it's not finished yet.' she says with a little smile, dropping the liquid on the other side of the cotton pad.

When it touches her skin, Tina inhales deeply. She usually uses vinegar, simply because it's easier to find. Already fabricating most of her cosmetics herself, she cannot bear searching for fresh roses while she doesn't even have a stable place to live. She moves from one friend's place to another, and at the same time she feels her list of contacts is running to an end.

She hears Farrah stand up, and before she opens her eyes, a hand cups her left cheek, and a kiss falls on her forehead.

Farrah is a little concerned that this tenderness has more or less frightened Tina, or has at least appeared strange to her. Still, she touches her shoulder while walking past her to get Mamina. The girls have a much more spacious loge, and she expects Tina to feel more at ease with them than with her. Thus, she herself can also have a moment to give Mitzi a call to remind her that she has a show tomorrow night. She may or may not mention Tina; she'll see. Besides... she doesn't want to think this way, but if Tina has something else on her mind that she has been concealing, it will be harder to pretend in front of three people than one. After all, it's totally possible that not one thing she knows about her is true.

* * *

> Hey Diary, I'm back. Oh I should start a new page because it's already the 14th.

> 14th February, ~~1980.~~ 1981\. (Shoot it's been two months and I'm still thinking 1980.)
> 
> Now we're good. It's not good to stay up till three in the morning but I can't sleep without finishing writing this down. I'm in Mamina's bed. No I mean this is her bed but she is not in it. She went to share a bed with Aboriqueen(16). Right, I haven't introduced them yet.
> 
> Basically... I'll start from where I stopped. Farrah came in, and I thought it was time that I go. So I packed this notebook with this pen attached - you won't know how awkward it was to walk across the room right in front of Farrah to retrieve my bag! I told myself not to look at her but I'm not sure if this was too impolite. Because later on I discovered that she was not at all the kind of person that I thought. She is completely different from... from... what was he called again? After all the drama and I don't even - Milano, yes, Émile Milano(17). Farrah watched me pack and she came over behind me, so close that I was almost choked with her perfume. It was the kind of sweet industrial product that I’d had enough in Berlin. And then I heard her walking away and I think she picked up a glass bottle. It was the same sound when Mr. Milano grabbed his alcohol. Then she called my name and asked me to come over. I thought naturally that it was the same as at the hotel - what's funny is that I actually danced for Alphonse, but it was always Mr. Milano who asked for me when I would rather spend some time doing a little street show. Back to Farrah, so I did the same as with Mr. Milano, but she didn't really take it, and for one moment I was doubting that the way I did it wasn't her type. No, of course I wouldn't act like a little puppy any more. It didn't disgust me so much to do it, but it disgusted me every time to be aware that Mr. Milano liked it. Probably if I didn't do that for him, Alphonse would have let me stay. But Farrah just asked me to close my eyes and removed the makeup for me. No one had ever done this! Only Alphonse had the privilege to get cleansed by her maquilleuse. I don't even know the girl's name; she had been so nice to all of us.
> 
> Why did I write so much about the hotel? I don't belong there any more. I never belong there.
> 
> And Farrah did one more thing. You won't believe it, dear Diary, you won't. Even I wouldn't have. She touched my face with her hand and kissed me on the forehead. It was... when I felt her palm on my cheek I was actually ready for what I had thought would happen. But no. She did something that only Mama would do. Alphonse would sometimes caress my face like that, but she never kissed my forehead. I don't want to admit it but I wanted to hug her.
> 
> She said she would bring someone to take care of me, then she left for a short while and returned with Mamina. Mamina is almost as tall as Farrah and has a gorgeous waterfall of dark straight hair. She smiled to me and apologised for not taking off her gloves before holding out her right hand. I thought it would be a handshake, but instead she kissed the back of my hand. 'Mamina Ray.' she introduced herself, 'Welcome to the birdcage(18).' To be honest, I had a bad feeling about this word. When she said "birdcage", Farrah nudged her with the elbow and made a "psst" face.
> 
> But she was very nice. She took me back to her loge - their loge, because there were two more people obviously waiting for me. The taller one is VV and the smaller, aboriginal-looking one is, as her appearance suggests, Aboriqueen. Once I stepped in it was Aboriqueen who did the talking, and it was by then that I realised that my past was not really the worst. I mean, at least I had had a family, I know how it feels being wealthy and being loved.
> 
> Aboriqueen didn't talk about herself in the beginning. She hugged me and said that I could call her either "Aboriqueen" if I didn't find it too long or too complicated, or "Jimmy"(19), and for this one she didn't explain the reason. So I stick on "Aboriqueen" like the other two. She told me about Farrah first. It was a long story, so I'll start a new paragraph and I try to recollect everything.
> 
> Farrah was born a boy, somewhere in Germany, which suggests that theoretically I could have just spoken German with her. Mamina has a photo of her as a boy and showed it to me. I'd say she was no older than twelve, but even back then, she had an angelic appearance with long blond hair, eyeliners and lipstick. Aboriqueen said that Farrah was the second and the last child of a noble man, but she has never seen or even known her mother, and her father was always busy with work about which she didn't have the least idea. For most of the time, she was with her brother and the nanny, a small young lady with "beautiful brown hair" who took care of them but also taught them everything from reading and writing to singing and dancing and even some equestrian skills. Before she reached ten, the war broke off - she didn't remember which war it was - and her brother was called to the battle field as a child soldier. Since then, she lost all contact with him. The only memory of her brother she has now is that he was not so tall, but was as elegant as a prince. Once she even said to him - she was still a boy at that time - that she would like to marry him when she became eighteen, and she remembers that her brother said "yes" immediately. Not long after he left, her father sent her to a cabaret, and this was the first time she actually stepped out of the mansion. Of course she hadn't realised it was a cabaret.(20)
> 
> 'So you know where all her sexual experiences come from.' said Aboriqueen, 'She started from the bottom of the ladder and made it to the top, by what means you can imagine yourself. She never talks about it but everyone understands; you can say it's part of the job, you know.'
> 
> 'But she still keeps that body.' VV added, 'The male body, I mean. She never gets to change that.'
> 
> 'Why?' I asked. It's not polite to ask intimate things like this, but I couldn't help.
> 
> There was a moment of silence. I feared that I might have offended them, and honestly I'm still worried now. It was eventually Mamina who answered, 'I think she doesn't bother to. She's doing fine now with the fake boobs that you can see she's very proud of. Besides it's expensive, and...'
> 
> 'Risky.' VV finished the sentence.
> 
> Well, yeah, it is. I don't know whether it's worse that it fails and takes your life or that it fails but leaves you alive(21).
> 
> I don't quite remember how we jumped to the story of Mamina which was (made) much funnier. There was something in the way that she talked that could make you laugh even about the most catastrophic events. Every time I felt sorry doing so, but she herself laughed louder than any of us. She was raised by a couple of couturiers with "who knows how many other kids", among which only a few were born to this family and others were adopted, and each of them were taught to make clothes or accessories once they could properly use scissors and needles. She said, 'At that time I thought to myself, _I will certainly become the best Mam of the world, because I already have enough experiences with kids younger than me and older than me, healthy and sick and even disabled, and I can make them clothes._ I didn't know how to cook, but I believed cooking was in the end the same thing as making clothes because they're both about putting things together to create a more useful stuff.' Then at the age of twelve or something, the couple abandoned her. 'They gave up on me because I was too healthy and they couldn't afford it.' that's how she put it, ‘They don’t usually chase boys away, but I guess I didn’t count.’ She went to a random bar, found a job there, got kicked out, went to another one, found another job, got kicked out again, like this on and on. 'Always for the same reason,' she shrugged the shoulder which was not covered by her hair, the other remaining still, 'that I didn't attract as many girls as they wanted. The third time the manager said this, I went, "I do better in attracting boys, but you never gave me a chance." I guess I was stupid enough to add the second half of the sentence, because this time he physically kicked me out, and for like one week I was the star of the corner, everyone being like, "Hoy, you've seen the brat got 'imself thrown outta the bar?" If I heard it, I'd go up and introduce myself, and sometimes people would enjoy seeing me, especially when I was limping like a sparrow trying to walk.'
> 
> It was then that she met Farrah. She slipped into a club ten seconds before it closed to find some leftover "for dessert", and it happened to be the one Farrah worked in, and Farrah happened to be there. The first night she let Mamina stay with her in the loge. The second too. Then the third, the fourth, ... and one night Mamina happened to remember her dance on stage and repeated it. That was basically how she found herself on stage. She said that when Farrah explained to her about my presence and what happened at the show, she knew immediately that I could stay. 'She can see through people, Farrah.' said Mamina, 'She really can. She says it's only a feeling, but her feeling has never been wrong.'
> 
> Farrah actually fixed her leg, the one that made her limp for a few weeks. 'I got a broken fibula,' Mamina said, always with a grin as if it were so funny as that, 'you know, the long, slim one, a fragment of which - or maybe two, three fragments, I didn't count - it was at that time trying to penetrate my muscles, and she gave it a good shove. I don't know where she learnt all this but she just knew how to do it, like you just know how to chew. However, my hands were out of her capability, but anyway, it's been too long since I got them grilled on the stove.' she shrugged again and continued stroking her hair, 'So excuse me once again for always wearing the gloves, and this will be the last time I say it because you’ve already remembered it. But if you like, my collection of gloves is yours too. They don't have legends behind 'em but they're good.' The fact is, she actually has a small portable wardrobe filled with gloves, and on top of it is sticked a handwritten catalogue.
> 
> 'Whose writing is it?' I asked, since it's of an elegant but very academic kind, one that looks as if the writer learnt this font specially for it.
> 
> 'It was me who wrote it,' Mamina leant over a little and answered, 'but Farrah taught me to draw these little letters.'
> 
> VV told Aboriqueen’s story and basically skipped her own. I’ll try to copy her exact words. ‘She was called Jimmy when she was a small dark boy skinny like a monkey living in the Australian desert with the tribe. Then Jimmy grew up and happened to learn some proper English, and became the guide of a few travellers who happened to wander near their territory, and gradually he was the guide. Jimmy danced because everyone danced, but he happened to be chosen to perform for people, in other words to enter a circus, since he knew a few tricks. It was a shithole, literally and metaphorically.’ At this point, VV glanced at Aboriqueen for the first time since she started talking. Aboriqueen barely moved. ‘Then I happened to go to one of their shows, the one which had to end halfway because the tent caught a fire. She was carrying a kid out of the smoke when I was just rushing past, and she managed to place the kid in my arms.’
> 
> ‘He even recognised me afterwards.’ Aboriqueen shrugged.
> 
> VV smiled - I think it’s the first time I saw her smile and it was actually beautiful - and continued, ‘But I just returned the kid and walked away. It was when Farrah took her back that I realised we had met. Mamina was already there.’
> 
> (I probably should go to sleep. I can’t really concentrate.) 
> 
> As for VV herself, she said she was a showboy and had known Farrah before she came here. I have a feeling that she isn’t as passionate about this job as the others. I don’t know… she looks like she doesn’t want to stop here, that she has a higher goal on the mind. And Aboriqueen was totally silent when VV talked, which made me feel awkward since they were basically recollecting these memories for me and most of these memories are unpleasant ones.
> 
> I don’t even know how to tell my own. I should, even though no one asked - well, maybe they don’t really want to hear. I have no idea what Farrah said about me. But it’s not surprising if they get bored of it since most of the things I still remember are incomplete pieces of childhood memories, experiences of terrible sex in Berlin and clichés between me and Mr. Milano.
> 
> Fine, I’m going to sleep. I hear Farrah walking in the corridor - I can recognise the sound and the rhythm now. Good night.
> 
> Farrah just came in, and obviously she was surprised when she saw me still awake. I actually just put the diary under the pillow the moment she stepped in. She said she just finished a phone call and asked me to go to sleep and not to worry about her. So now good night. It’s almost morning to be fair, but good night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: a list of long blabbers coming up.  
> (1) Yeah... I admit that there isn't really a reason for it to be yellow. It's just because I like Bernadette's scarf.  
> (2) I won't say that it's a reference to when Hedwig tears Yitzhak's passport apart... I just thought of it so I wrote "passport" instead of generally saying "papers" (anyway, "ID card" isn't an option).  
> (3) Once Télé Matin filmed the backstage of _Priscilla_ and Carmen was doing the makeup of Bernadette for David, and when it was done and Antoine (aka Queen Vegane!) helped him put on the wig and said, 'Bonjour Bernadette.' And David replied, in the voice of Bernadette, 'Bonjour.' I just love this moment so... voilà.  
>  (4) This outfit... well the shawl is a personal preference. The scarf is actually inspired by the one David wore at the masterclass of Sophie Delmas, the fedora and the hairstyle too. And he actually has a silvery fitted coat that I like a lot, with furry black collars.  
> (5) This is actually the word that David himself used to describe Bernadette.  
> (6) Because I need to find an origin for Tina being 'Tina Tiger' and Jim Moriarty's 'easy, Tiger' came to my mind. So yeah. And this is also a reference of 'OK ma Choupette' that Farrah says to Dick in the musical if you put that tone on.  
> (7) Which is a Friday. I did researches! This is also 13 years before 1994 (which is the year of the story if we take that the story happened the year the film was out), and it will soon be 13 years since David premiered as the MC in _Cabaret_ , and I like this unlucky number.  
> (8) Using the French word for "bitch" here because it makes more sense. "Chienne" literally means a female dog.  
> (9) I have a pen like this that Mam had used for a long time. It was my first pen and it still works well, although the blue cover has been almost completely rubbed off.  
> (10) See [the dress](http://david-alexis.fr/david-alexis/images/news/Orpheo_song_david_alexis_2.jpg) David wore in _Orphéo Song_.  
>  (11) Haha this comes from my own habit of noting things with pencil directly on the surface around the keyboard of my laptop, and it's convenient because it's a black Dell.  
> (12) And actually beneath the mask it's the makeup of Bernadette. I tend to refer to the version of the second season (yes... well at least as I observed, there has been a very furtive evolution, but I still prefer that of the second season which means from February to June).  
> (13) I think this is actually David's own habit on stage? Like, when he gets nervous or when it's just a very important scene. Not every time but I've seen it quite a few times during the wedding scene and during the opening ceremony of Gay Games 10 too.  
> (14) Lol this. For a bit of reference there were several during les Trophées de la comédie musicales this year.  
> (15) PAB does have a dressing gown like this.  
> (16) There isn't a specific reason that it has to be Aboriqueen... well, you can say that it's because VV is too tall so she and Mamina won't fit into one bed.  
> (17) He is a character in [_Hôtel des Cancans_](http://david-alexis.fr/david-alexis/pages/detail-categories.php?cat=1&id=80) which is a musical David composed and played 15 years ago. The story actually fits in well so why not.  
>  (18) This is a reference to _La Cage aux folles_.  
>  (19) Because Claude (who plays Aboriqueen) plays the guide in the desert whose name is Jimmy.  
> (20) There are pieces of _Hôtel des Cancans_ and _Bô_ and some other references in it, and they are actually related but I'm not writing a long paragraph to explain it here. Germany because of _Hedwig_ , and the photo is actually based on [this one](https://scontent-cdt1-1.cdninstagram.com/vp/06ffb4fef7244d3c00b80e2bc511a953/5C184E0B/t51.2885-15/e35/12071024_803271253132627_1648484708_n.jpg) from _Le Bal des vampires_. The brother and the war is from _Bô_ , and I just changed the single mother to the nanny. The father's image is partly based on the King in _Hôtel des Cancans_ , and the prince too.  
> (21) Hedwig.


End file.
